


Psyche

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Archery, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Comedy, Cuties, Dorks in Love, Dragonborn is sick of everything, Dragons, Everyone is protective of Syldre, F/M, Farengar is doing his best, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humour, I am emotionally attached to my OCs, Irileth is a mom, Magic, Main Questline (With a twist!), Multi, Nobody knows what is going on, Politics, Racism towards mer, Romance, Sarcasm, Silus is tired of everyone, Silus just wants to vibe tbh, Silus/Syldre, Slow Burn, Some heavy themes & depictions of violence, Syldre just wants to explore, Violence, Warnings in Author’s notes, Wholesome, bosmer - Freeform, dry humour, idiots falling in love, imperial - Freeform, main character has no clue who he is, wood elf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Syldre accidentally shoots a newcomer with an unusual case of amnesia in the forest, an unlikely bond is formed and the pair become wrapped up in affairs far bigger than they realise.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s), OC/OC, Original Character & Farengar, Original Character & Irileth, Original Character & Original Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Psyche

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to Psyche! I haven’t posted a fanfiction in years, so any constructive criticism is welcomed! Apologies for this first chapter being quite dialogue heavy. Additionally, I’ll add any warnings for potentially sensitive content in the notes. The first chapter is rather tame, save for some mild language, blood and sexual references. I hope you enjoy.

Over the years, Syldre had honed her skill in archery. She knew exactly where and when to shoot. Although her father had tried to send her down the mage route, the arcane was not Syldre’s strong suite. The only magic she could confidently use was a healing spell, which she rarely needed, and a flame spell. Anything else she had tried had been an utter disaster. 

Syldre’s favourite thing about archery, however, was that she felt free while she did it. She was among her kin. Every time she weaved between the trees with the foxes and leaves she felt so at ease. She could spend hours just staring out into the water, ears encapsulated by the babbling of the river. Today was even more beautiful than most; The sky was a satin ribbon dusted in warm cotton. It was silent, save for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the occasional footfall of a deer. 

Her current target was a bucket that she’d hung from one of the younger trees. Syldre drew back her bow string and arrow and prepared to fire, focusing her autumn eyes on the bucket and releasing her grip. Syldre’s ears twitched as the arrow twirled through the air like a dancer. Instead of the sound of splintering wood, she heard a fleshy noise, and a grunt. She immediately panicked. 

Had she hit a deer? 

Syldre sheathed her bow and rushed over to the bucket. She found a man lying on the floor, dazed as ever. Syldre’s heart sank in her chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Had she killed him? Was he going to be alright? Did it hurt? Why was she the one screaming?

The man looked confused, and also in a world of pain. He was wearing a strange ensemble - a mixture of legion armour and Stormcloak armour. He swore loudly when his eyes locked onto the angry looking slit in his arm. Arrows left particularly nasty wounds. Syldre wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do; She had never actually shot a living thing before. 

There was an abundance of blood pooling on the floor below them. Syldre felt bile rising in the back of her throat as her stomach rolled.

That  definitely would not help the situation.

She snapped out of her panicked daze when she noticed the man trying to reach for the lesion on his upper arm.

“No! Don’t touch it, that’ll make it worse,” Syldre cried, “I’m sorry. I thought you were a bucket. That’s... a lot of blood.”

“Understandable. I’ll make sure I’m distinguishable from a bucket next time.”

Syldre swallowed the snort in the back of her throat, “Are you alright with magic?”

There was something trying to force it’s way out of the locked chest in his mind. It was furious, like a dragon. All he could understand from it though, was no. He couldn’t for the life of him remember why, but the thought of magic made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t know why he couldn’t remember anything. It was like someone had taken almost everything he knew about his life and scattered it all outside his head.

“Alright,” He said after a moments thought. This could be life and death. An irrational fear was not going to be the end of him. 

Syldre noticed that he seemed hesitant, but realistically, magic was probably the only thing that would save him in this situation. She didn’t have anything to clean or dress the wound, and he seemed eager to get back up and moving. So it was either magic or try to get to Whiterun before he bled out. 

“Okay. This’ll be more comfortable if you sit up,” she said, directing him to lean against a tree. 

He obeyed her, grumbling in pain as she knelt to examine the wound. 

“Divines, that’s a bad one. I’m sorry,” Syldre said. 

“Don’t worry. I like a bit of variety in my life,” He replied dryly, but Syldre could see the amusement through his helmet.

Of course she had shot someone. They were both lucky that she’d only pierced his arm, and it had passed straight through, anywhere else, and he’d probably be dead by now. That would be a much worse situation.

Syldre closed her eyes and started to channel her magicka. She felt its delicate warmth beginning to form into a beautiful golden orb in the palm of her shaky hand. 

“Ready?” Syldre asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” He responded, watching the force in her hand sway softly. 

Syldre nodded sympathetically and watched as little sunshine chains encircled the wound. Syldre felt the tension in the strangers muscles gradually fade away as her magic put him at ease. The bubbling sensation in her heart told her that it seemed to be rather fond of him. 

Once Syldre’s magicka had exhausted itself, the wound had completely vanished and the skin where it had been was smooth like porcelain. He looked shocked. Had he never been healed before? Maybe she could lend him one of her father’s spell tomes, if he was feeling generous. 

“Thank you,” He said finally, after while of staring at his arm, “What is your name?”

“It’s Syldre. And yours?” She said, standing up and offering him a hand. He took it, rising to his full, rather intimidating height. 

“Silus. Would you happen to know the way to Whiterun?”

Syldre grinned widely, “I just happen to live there. It’s not far. Only a short walk from here. Here on business?”

“I’m supposed to report to Jarl Balgruuf,” Silus said shortly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to trust her with the dragon information. And it probably wasn’t bright to share the part about nearly being executed, either. 

“Ah,” Syldre said, “I’ll take you. I’m the court wizards daughter.” 

“I’ll refrain from telling him about the whole shooting me thing,” Silus said, walking next to her as he saw the city walls of Whiterun. 

It looked rather snug; The withered walls protected a cosy little city. Silus could smell smoke coming from the bracers mixed with whatever someone nearby was baking. He could see the stables and a small, family owned mill. He wondered if he’d been here before or not. 

They crossed over the aging bridge and continued down the path. It was a wonderful day; The sun shone down on the water, highlighting the silken scales of the fish. A gentle gust of wind sent the flowers swaying in harmony. The air felt fresh and clean in their lungs.

Silus looked at the stables as they passed by and thought about buying one. Perhaps he would have enough for one once he sold the extra armour and weapons he’d taken from Helgen. 

Helgen. That had been a very interesting experience. Silus had no idea why he was going to be beheaded, but he hoped it wasn’t something serious. He supposed he’d figure that out when he remembered who he was, though. If he ever would. 

“So, what’s Whiterun like?” Silus asked as they made their way up the path towards the gates.

“It’s small, mostly pleasant. Balgruuf is a good man. You’ll get along with him just fine,” Syldre told him.

She turned to smile at the guards outside the gate. They looked as bored as ever. Nothing much happened in Whiterun, apart from the occasional pickpocketing. 

“Afternoon, miss. Who’s your companion?” One of them asked suspiciously.

“Afternoon,” She replied politely, gesturing to Silus.

“I’m Silus. I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack.”

Syldre balked as they were let through the gates.

“A dragon attack? Wow that’s really something! What was it like? Is everyone in Helgen alright? What dragon was it? How did you escape?” Syldre asked.

“Well-” Silus started, but his stomach interrupted him with an obnoxious grumble. He looked down at it bitterly.

Syldre immediately made a beeline for The Drunken Huntsman, much to Silus’ chagrin, “This way! I’m hungry myself.” 

“I need to speak to the Jarl,” Silus muttered, but she didn’t even hear him as they stepped through the door.

“It’ll take five minutes. You can eat on the way,” Syldre replied, raking her eyes over the cosy interior around her.

There was a large hearth crackling underneath some pots and a slit in the centre of the room. It gave of a warm, comforting light which reassured him a little. Silus could smell the meat cooking and the soup brewing. It made him even hungrier. He cast his eyes over to the barman, completely ignoring the patrons that dotted the tavern. 

Syldre had already made her way over to the bar, and was happily chatting away with the Bosmer that owned it. She turned around and gestured to Silus to come over. He was reluctant, but he joined her quick enough.

“Hello, friend,” Anoriath said cheerily, “In the market for some hunting supplies?” 

Silus shook his head, “Uh, no thanks. I prefer a sword.” 

“Ah. Best go and see Adrianne when you get the chance, then.” 

“We’re here for something to eat, actually. For on the go,” Syldre told him. 

“Ah! Well, we have some fresh apple dumplings?”

Syldre turned to Silus, grinning when he nodded his head. He reached into his pocket for some gold. 

“I’ll pay, I brought you here,” Syldre said, quickly pulling out her purse and handing Elrindir twelve pieces of gold. 

Elrindir grinned and handed them both their dumplings, wrapped in paper to make them easier to carry. 

“Thank you,” Syldre said, turning to leave, “have a good day, El.”

“Happy hunting.”

The two of them left, and Silus was even hungrier when the scent of baked apples and cinnamon wafted towards him. 

“Thanks,” He said, taking of his helmet so he could eat his food. 

Silus looked like he sounded. He had hooded blue eyes and a deadpan, pale face with untidy hair the shade of coal. The polar opposite of Syldre, save for the messy hair. 

Hers wasn’t full of rubble, though. 

“So... tell me about the dragon?” Syldre asked, walking through the town next to him. 

They were a strange duo; A Bosmer and an Imperial. They turned more than a few heads. Some looked suspicious, some looked interested, and some looked jealous. To be honest, Syldre would probably stare too if she saw someone wearing Stormcloak and Imperial armour. That was probably breaking the law, as stupid as it was. Silus had probably offended every Imperial and Nord they had walked past.

Syldre frowned as they approached the Gildergreen tree. It was dying, though Danica was insistent that it just needed some extra tending to. Months ago, it had been absolutely beautiful. Rosy pink leaves had towered above everyone like a divine being; It was ever present. Sometimes Syldre would sit at its foot and read until sundown. That was until it was struck by lightning. Now it was lifeless; It’s ashen leaves barely clung to its branches. She sincerely hoped Danica was right.

“How depressing,” Silus observed as they crossed the bridges over the little stream surrounding the tree.

They made their way upstairs, finally, and Syldre was embarrassed by how out of breath she was. She could run through the forests without breaking a sweat, but stairs absolutely killed her. She didn’t know why they couldn’t just use ramps. But no, they had to have those godawful steep stairs all over the place. 

Of course, she thought to herself - Silus looked completely unbothered. 

They crossed the final bridge and Syldre pushed open the huge doors. Dragonsreach looked the same as always. Big and brilliant, yet tight-knit and warm. The smell of ale and the sound of hearty laughter filled the communal air around them. As much as Syldre loved it here, she needed her own space. She wanted be beyond the walls. 

As they continued past the fire, the familiar sound of Aventus arguing with the Jarl became more prominent. Balgruuf was sitting in his chair defiantly, chin clasped in his thick fingers.

Irileth approached, eyeing them both suspiciously. She was a stern, intimidating woman with a jaw sharp enough to slice a diamond, but Syldre had grown to love her like a mother over the years. Her crimson eyes scared off most, but Sydre learned to recognize the well disguised warmth in them as they trained together.

“What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving any visitors,” She started, sword drawn on Silus, “Syldre, your father was looking for you. Something about a stone?”

“Thank you Irileth, I’ll go and see him now. This is Silus. The Jarl will want to see him.” 

She gave Silus a warm smile and waved, making her way back to her fathers quarters. 

Farengar was sitting at his desk, drowning in books. They were absolutely everywhere: On the the desk, on his lap, on the floor. Syldre widened her eyes and scooped one of them up. Ah. This was about dragons, again. If her father heard about Helgen from anyone, she’d never hear the end of it. 

Farengar looked up from the book he was engrossed in, “Ah! There you are. I’ve been looking for you all day, where have you been?” 

“I accidentally shot someone while I was practicing my archery,” She looked at the perplexed face of her father, “He’s fine, don’t worry. He’s talking to the Jarl about a dragon attack in Helgen.” 

“A dragon attack in Helgen?” He said, springing up dramatically, book pages fluttering, “Where is he?”

“He’s speaking to the Jarl,” Syldre said and stepped over the books littered on the floor, “Irileth said you were looking for me?” 

Farengar nodded his head, “Can you help me find that book about the Dragon burial sites? What was it called now- Aha!  Atlas of Dragons . That was it. I’ve put it down somewhere, but I can’t for the life of me remember where.”

“Is it somewhere in this mess?” 

“Mm,” Farengar said, engrossed in the book he was reading again, “I think it’s around there somewhere.” 

Syldre sighed and got down onto her knees, sifting through the stacks of books that surrounded her. This was like trying to find a needle in a needle stack. Her father owned countless books about dragons and magic, and all sorts of other things. This would be no small task. 

About twelve books in, the sound of footsteps turned her head. The Jarl and Silus appeared in the doorway. 

“Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details.” 

“Syldre, can you leave us?” Farengar said, pushing the book he’d been reading out of the way and focusing his attention on Silus. 

“Ooh! Is it about the Dragon again? Can I stay?” Syldre asked. 

“No, this is none of your concern. Off with you, child.” 

Syldre huffed and stood up and hopscotched over the books on the floor. Though her father meant well, he could sometimes be a little aloof. When she’d first come under his care, he’d been rather anxious. He was always worrying about whether he was being a good parent or if he was being overprotective. Syldre didn’t think he’d done too bad of a job, apart from the nearly killing someone earlier today.

She made her way back out of the keep and decided to take a walk around the town centre. As much as Syldre loved Whiterun, she would love to go beyond the wooden walls and just become a nomad. That would be ideal for her. Or perhaps living in a cottage somewhere in those beautiful forests she’d read and heard so much about. She had never even gone very far over the river.

“Ah, there she is!” 

Syldre would recognize that annoying voice anywhere. Of course it was Mikael.

“What do you want?” 

She’d made the mistake of falling for Mikael’s superficial charm a few months before. Syldre told him exactly what she thought when she found the book he’d written about the women in Skyrim. The slimy bastard had described her as “A feisty, elven maiden with ample curves and an inoffensive face,” amongst other things. She had been furious about the incident, and was even more angry when he’d refused to stop writing the book. It was bad enough that he had written a handbook for creeps, but it was even worse that he had actually published it.

“Ouch! I was just going to offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re temper is flaring up again,” There was a smirk on his face, and Syldre hoped that one day he’d piss off the wrong person and get a beating. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see your face again? Or is your hearing just as faulty as your personality?” 

The thing Syldre hated the most about the bard was that he almost never seemed affected by anything she said. It was like he took every comment as flirtation - maybe even a compliment, as ridiculous as it was. 

She’d heard from Carlotta that she was his current fixation. The poor woman, she’d never hear the end of it. It wasn’t like she had an escape either, since she ran her produce stall every day.

“Haha! One of my favourite things about you, Syldre, is that you never fail to make me laugh.”

“I suggest you leave Carlotta alone. And whoever is next on your list. She wants nothing to do with you,” Syldre replied, folding her arms over her chest.

“We had such fun, didn’t we? Whatever happened?” 

“You wrote about me in your woman encyclopedia. Surprisingly enough we don’t take kindly to being talked about like collections.” 

Mikael was still as amused as ever. He just laughed and wandered back into the bar with his cheap lute. Syldre had always thought he was an awful bard, even when she’d been courting him. 

Syldre was in a fowl mood, now. 

As if on cue, her new best friend passed by. 

“Where are you off to?” Syldre asked him.

He stared at her dejectedly for an awkward moment, “Bleak falls barrow. Something about a rock.”

“You mean the Dragonstone? I’ll come and help. I know a lot about it.” 

Silus quirked his eyebrow at her, “Its very dangerous. Your father told me he didn’t want to risk sending anyone of value.” 

“I know it’s dangerous. I can hold my own you know,” She replied. 

Silus looked down at his arm, “If you came with me I think the draugr would be the last of my worries.”

Syldre laughed, “Are you ever going to let me forget about that?” 

“Not if you come with me,” Silus replied.

“Well, I suppose we should pack our bags, then.”


End file.
